our truth

Pretend it's 15 April.

I don't need to extend the tax deadline. I need to post about our adoption as part of JCICS's campaign to show the quietly successful side of adoption that often gets overlooked in the media. And, on 15 April I'd just arrived home. I could've slapped a post together, but this seemed too important to treat it in a slapdash way.

I adopted Lexi, who is a year younger than Artyem Saviliev, the boy we've all be reading about incredulously, six-and-a-half months ago. Both children were adopted from Russia in September 2009.

I don't know what sort of information Torry Hansen was given, but I was given very little--and much of that was conflicting. And yet, I stood before a judge and promised, vowed, to love and cherish this little girl, to do everything in my power to make sure she grew and was loved and happy. You'll remember that it was not a decision I took lightly. But, I knew that no matter happened, no matter what we were called to face together, she was my daughter. She was mine and I was hers.

We have been extremely blessed. Our adjustment has been so much easier than I thought it would be. She didn't show the physical aggression that I expected. She didn't rage. She didn't test. Aside from some sleep issues and feeling the need to clean her plate...and other little things that are normal for pi children, we really didn't have any issues to deal with. Maybe that's the key--I knew what was normal for a pi child.

I don't know what Torry Hansen did while she was waiting, but I spent that time getting ready. I wasn't just buying darling clothes and picking out bed linens. (Yes, I did that, too--but it didn't take long.) I read. I read everything I could on post-institutionalized children, children with histories of trauma and neglect, children with FAS, children who were home from Russia for mere days, for months, for years. I became a part of the amazing online community of international adopters. I talked to other parents who had and were adopting internationally. I educated myself. I made plans and alternate plans. I was prepared for the worst, and truly got the very best.

I love my daughter fiercely.

Really, there is no one I'd rather spend my time with. Seeing the world open in front of her is enchanting. It doesn't have to be trips to other countries that delight her. She's more amazed at the process of dying Easter eggs or the laundry becoming clean. She loves the smell of clean sheets and cheers when I get a stain out of her clothes. She is funny and entertaining. Watching her dance fills me with joy. Seeing what a little PERSON she is, watching her preferences and opinions emerge, just fills me up.

Older child adoption, says my friend Becky, is more like a marriage than giving birth. (Not having done either, I'll rely on her wisdom. ;> ) You choose each other. You are both people with pasts--and baggage--and you must find a way to fit all that baggage in one closet. Zip suitcases inside one another and take them out when you need to get to them. Choose to get rid of some of your baggage to make room for hers. (Asking her to get rid of hers so you can keep yours is not only unrealistic, it's selfish.) Or, get a bigger closet.

A high school student was taking pictures for the yearbook of the audience at the school play about a week ago. He wanted a picture of Lexi and I. So, I stood there talking to her, waiting for him to get his "candid" shot. His comment (as she shared her cookie with me) was, "You look like a newlywed couple." "Well," I told him, Becky's post rattling around in my head, "that's essentially what we are."

We are two people who have been brought together to make a family.

Being an American who lives in Russia, I am extremely aware of the picture Lexi and I present. I know that we are being watched and measured. We are closely observed and our interactions, our behavior, and Lexi's behavior, is noted and commented upon. It's a little unnerving, being the posterfamily for international adoption over here. I feel a little like a lab rat sometimes. But, I can't imagine a better ambassador for older-child adoption than my little girl. Her courage astounds me. And her sunny disposition, her zest for life, and those dimples charm everyone around her. I know that people who see us NOW think that I "got one of the good ones". If they could have heard the things that were said of her before, how little was thought of her chances for success, I don't know how they'd fit that information into their worldview, how they'd reconcile it with the delightful child that she is. They would want to dismiss is as untrue or a mistake. And yet, they wouldn't want to admit that there could be a mistake in their system.

But there clearly was a mistake, as her success exemplifies.

The truth is, she is simply amazing. She is tenderhearted, kind, gentle, sparkly, creative and just. She tries her best at everything every single day. I am so grateful to be her mother and am looking forward to every day of our lives together. That's the truth of adoption as we live it.

Last week in Vienna.